


Thinking of You

by mintletters16



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Light-Hearted, POV Ruby, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintletters16/pseuds/mintletters16
Summary: Ruby has often wondered at what point her luck will run out. Has thought about what she’s ever done to have found this kind of love. The kind that is lived-in, joyful, and unconditional. The kind that makes her toes curl in anticipation and her bones sigh in familiarity. Love that makes her feel safe, and heard, and wanted. That fills her up but leaves her lighter than she would be without it – better, than she would be without it.“Quite a life we made together, huh, baby.”- A love letter to the Hills and Ruby and Beth's sisterhood, with an unexpected guest crashing the Hills' anniversary celebrations -





	Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

> So we got a little sun out here in rainy England that caused the fanfic writer in me to malfunction and actually try to write something vaguely fluffy (shock horror!) I make no apologies for the oncoming cheese. 
> 
> Title from Elle King's ‘Chained’, the song playing when Stan walks up to Ruby after being released from prison. (I cry every time) 
> 
> Takes place somewhere between 2x06 and 2x07. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“AUNTIE BETH!! DANNY’S SLICING UP WORMS AGAIN!”

A chorus of, “Eeeewwww,” coming from the other three Boland children and a mildly disgusted, “That’s nasty,” from Harry follows Sara’s horrified proclamation, as Sadie wrestles a sharpened twig from the clutches of an indignant Danny - small but stronger than his weedy frame suggests.

“But Maria from school said if you cut off the ends their head grows back again. Even from their ass!”

“Danny! Watch your language and stop terrorising mini beasts. You’re going to get your party clothes all muddy! Come on guys, we still have so much to get ready before tonight,” a frazzled Beth calls out from the door to her back yard, whisking pink colouring into some buttercream icing and patiently giving her address to the bounce house guy on the phone cradled between her left ear and shoulder.

“Yes, it should have arrived two hours ago. Can you please track the delivery? I think you sent it to the wrong – Jane! Put your pants back on! Annie, could you please get up and help for once? They’re going to arrive in a couple of hours and nothing is ready!”

Annie huffs out a sigh from her seated position at the garden table strewn with star sequins, strings of paper lanterns, bouquets of white and pink peonies assembled by Sadie and Sara, and an unfinished hand painted banner, currently reading “Happy 22nd”, with a picture of a beaming Ruby on one end and a young Stan with an afro and bow tie on the other.

“Do you spell ‘anniversary’ with two r’s or two s’s? You know what, I’m just gonna double every letter to be safe,” Kenny decides, dipping his brush in the ketchup instead of the paint.

“Okay, sis, you need to like seriously chill. We’ve got an infallible system of child labour going on here. Hey! Lil’ Money! Make sure the chip to dip ratio is perfect. I don’t wanna choke on a dry Dorito ‘cause you were stingy with the guac. And Emma! Pick up the pace, kid. These lanterns aren’t gonna hang themselves.”

“Mom, you know, you could at least help with the balloons. Kenny almost had an asthma attack trying to blow them up on his own,” Sadie’s chastising voice comes from across the garden, where he’s pegging old photographs on a washing line.

“It’s true,” comes Kenny’s slightly wheezy reply.

“Uh, excuse me, I’m keeping up morale. In fact, I think it’s time for another Annie Marks jingle don’t you?”

Over a collective groan, Annie starts her third rendition of _Defying Gravity_ , while Harry takes the lyrics a little too literally and tries swinging from the tree house to the pinned up bunting, Tarzan-style, with Jane’s sparkly silver pants tied around his head as a bandanna.

“AAAAWAOWAOAAA!!!”

“Harry! Watch out for the chocolate fountain!”

“Hey, why does this paint smell so funky?”

“Is Momo real?"

“ _KISS ME GOODBYYYYYE, I’M DEFYING GRAVITYYYY!_ ”

“Sara, please, hook up your iPod, I can’t listen to my mom’s show tunes again.”

“You got it.”

The beginning of Lizzo’s _Truth Hurts_ blares out of the speakers just as Dean walks into the kitchen, vacant smile on his face and hands decidedly devoid of the celebration cake he was supposed to have picked up on his way home.

_“Why men great ‘til they gotta be great?”_

“Dean! Where is the cake?”

“Ah…”

At his gormless expression, Beth pinches the bridge of her nose, nerves already frayed from having to control eight kids all day (yes, Annie included) and somehow finish the catering for tonight, whilst also responding to constant texts from a certain criminal boss, negotiating how many pharmaceutical cars could fit on her lot by the end of the weekend.

Strong-arming him for 50/50 perhaps wasn’t as straightforward a deal as she had originally hoped.

Walking past her now awkwardly loitering husband, Beth brings out the final trays of finger food for the festivities, taking in the scene before her with an exhausted sigh.

The truth is, it’s been taking its toll, balancing Book Club and mommy duties, and she feels like she can’t excel at one without falling short of the mark with the other. But it’s all for them, her kids, all the deals and the cash and the pills, so that they’ll never have to worry like she does. So they won’t be left floundering one day because the people who were supposed to provide for them didn’t deliver.

And she wants to give them the best start in life, no matter the cost. It’s just, sometimes her shoulders feel a little too heavy with the weight of four futures upon them. Sometimes she craves for another soul to make her feel like she’s doing enough, to make her feel like _she_ is enough.

Acceptance. She’s never really found that, outside of one Mrs. Ruby Hill.

Which brings her back to today. Stan and Ruby – _twenty-two years_ of Stan and Ruby. With all the stress and tension of the past year or so, Beth thought they deserved something extra special to celebrate their lives together. So, she’d sent them off to a couple’s spa morning, courtesy of Nancy, followed by a fancy restaurant lunch uptown (“They’re probably going to inhale, like, sacred fumes from an angel’s ass crack for dessert”, Annie had speculated) while the rest of them prepared for the surprise party.

This has to be perfect, just for them. Beth smiles at a stray memory from their wedding, this day two decades ago, Stan’s hands shaking as he slid Ruby’s ring on, chin wobbling sweetly with emotion. A warm sensation of soft affection for her two oldest friends blooms in Beth’s chest at the thought as she takes a calming minute to breathe in and out, ordering her thoughts for the remaining tasks yet to be completed.

It’s fine; they can do this.

“ _I JUST TOOK A DNA TEST, TURNS OUT I’M A HUNDRED PERCENT THAT BITCH_.”

“Language!”

*

“Oh my God, Stanley, he did _not_!”

“I’m telling you, baby, he straight up tased the dude before he’d even pulled up his pants like some kind of elderly ninja! Homeboy was shaking all naked on the bedroom floor. Poor Macy was traumatised.”

“And that’s how you found him? Just lying there all…flaccid?”

“Yup, my first ever domestic disturbance call. Mr. Barnes didn’t even deny it. Said something about hoping the electricity shocked the audacity out of the boy’s sperm bank or something.”

“Well, guess that’s why you don’t bump uglies with your boyfriend when your crazy grandpa’s still in the building.”

“Too right. I ever catch Sara like that, best believe I’ll be reaching for more than just the taser.”

“Oh, honey, I will personally hand you the Nunchucks.”

“You know I been practicing, boo.”

Ruby opens Beth’s front door to a suspiciously quiet house, considering it’s basically been a nursery whilst she and Stan enjoyed their day out together for the first time in too long. The massages had felt delicious – the gourmet ‘dessert’ (read: orange infused cashew half) tasting decidedly less so – and Stan had made her laugh so much that for a few hours she’d managed to forget the heavy pit of anxiety Turner’s latest visit had instilled within her.

_I want her._

But he doesn’t matter right now, because Ruby feels light enough to simply lie on a cloud and float on her bliss for the rest of her days, Stan right there at her side.

The ride home had been to the soundtrack of 90’s throwbacks from the first mix tape Stan had ever made for her back when he still wore braces too wide for his mouth, and he’s still humming Blackstreet’s _No Diggity_ as he opens the closet door to hang up their coats.

He abruptly comes to a halt when he sees Jane, crouched behind a parka, deeply inhaling an open party popper. She’s always been one weird ass kid.

“Err…honey, you wanna maybe stop doing that? Where’s everybody else anyway?” Ruby asks, exchanging a glance with a befuddled Stan.

“Nu-uh! And there’s a surprise for you but I’m not ‘posed to say what. Just follow the Squishies…”

Jane slowly pulls the closet door closed again whilst giving the command, adding a vaguely ominous undertone to her words. 

Mutual confusion deepening even further, Ruby and Stan turn towards the kitchen to see a trail of colourful, squeezable toys in the form of various foods and inanimate objects, leading all the way to the backyard, half a squishy burger just about visible from its position in the doorway.

“What in the world...” Stan mutters, leading the way forward in amused, if a little creeped out, curiosity. 

They walk past a squishy turd which evokes a particularly traumatic flashback of Stan squeezing Harry’s one to death in the early hours of the morning when Ruby had recalled how she and the girls had thrown out Mary Pat’s ‘trash’.

She doesn’t miss Stan’s shudder when he passes the smiling brown swirl.

All thoughts of bloated body parts and desperate prayers sent up from shady alleyway dumpsters completely vanish from her mind, however, when they finally step out onto the patio out back.

“HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!”

Grasping Stan’s arm in complete shock, Ruby let’s out a squeal of disbelief. There, in front of them both, are about thirty grinning faces cheering and laughing, streamers and party poppers bursting into the air above them. A home-made, horrendously misspelled banner with their faces plastered on it – “My ‘fro!” - gently billows in the summer night’s breeze and the golden fairy lights haphazardly strung up around the garden twinkle mischievously back at the night.

Hand on heart, Ruby takes it all in, Stan busy ducking away from Harry’s can of Funky Foam.

Completely overwhelmed, she gasps, “You guys! What is all this!”

Sara appears from a group of Church friends with Sadie and barrels straight into Ruby with a hug so ferocious she barely just keeps her balance.

“Mom! Do you like it? We wanted to surprise you guys!”

“Well, mission accomplished, you sneaky munchkins! I can’t believe all this.”

“We’ve got one more big surprise though. Come on!” Sadie says, positively bouncing with barely supressed excitement that has Annie chuckling beside her.

As they follow behind the girls, Ruby turns to Annie in disbelief, “I cannot believe you managed to keep this from me. Even after Tequila Tuesday!”

“Hey, I can keep secrets! You know, sometimes,” she shrugs.

Ruby’s protests are cut short as she takes in what Sara and Sadie have led them to.

In practised unison they declare, “We present to you, the tunnel of love!”, whilst Harry imitates a trumpet blowing for a grand occasion.

Tall wooden stilts have been knocked into the ground and shrouded with large pink pieces of cloth Ruby vaguely recognises as the tablecloths Beth was gifted one Christmas by her mother-in-law (lovely woman, unfortunate taste) to create a long tunnel Stan has to only slightly duck under to be able to fit inside.

Ruby’s eyes adjust to the soft, translucent lighting coming through the sheets to see a washing line dangling small rectangular pieces of card. Upon closer inspection, she realises they are in fact old polaroids, the first one being of her fifteen-year-old self, cheering from the bleachers as the high school marching band passes by on the football pitch in the distance. Though, she only really has eyes for a certain sophomore trombone player.

“You always have had a thing for me in a uniform, huh?” Stan chuckles behind her, earning him a half-hearted slap to the chest in response.

Next is a photograph from prom night, sat on the steps of her porch outside with her head thrown back, laughing at some corny punchline now faded into the background of the memory, Stan hiding his face in her shoulder, hand in her corsage wrapped one, toothy smile just visible from the corner of his mouth.

“You know, I created a whole mood board of Kelly Rowland looks to emulate for prom.”

“I found it when we spring cleaned the garage a few years back but I thought it was mine from freshman year.”

At Ruby’s raised brow, pursed lipped, squinted eye response, Stan throws out a hasty, “Hey, look! Our first concert!” before barrelling forward to the next set of photos.

Ruby realises the photos have been arranged to tell the story of her and Stan, through the first family barbeque when her brothers had insisted she marry Stan before they did after his legendary beef patties were dished out, to their wedding day, with Stan looking at her like she’s something extraordinary and little Annie licking the miniature Ruby on the cake in the background.

There’s a picture capturing a particularly rambunctious Black Mafia game at their housewarming party, Stan and Beth pointing fingers at each other with twin lively accusatory expressions, Stan halfway in the air with cards falling all around him (“I still maintain she looked at my hand.”) Another with an exhausted but serene Ruby holding a small bundle of complete perfection, laughing up at the camera man who wraps his arms around her waist now.

By the time they reach the printed Instagram shots of the kids drawing crazy facial hair and Pokémon characters on a sleeping Stan, and the three of them coordinating a routine to OutKast’s _Hey Ya_ in the living room _,_ and a sleepy Harry on Stan’s back as they walk back from Sara’s debate team win, Ruby’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears. She’d swipe at them but Stan’s hand is clasped so tightly in hers she doesn’t have the heart to free her hand.

Her tears spill over on to her cheeks when they reach the end of the tunnel and see a photograph taken only a few months ago. Sara had just come home after the transplant, and she’s sleeping in her bed, Beth’s hand-stitched quote quilt draped softly over her. She’s nestled in the crook of Stan’s arm, head facing his chest, while Harry’s small frame hugs Sara’s back, Elmo faced pyjama leg swung over her waist. Stan’s arm envelopes them both protectively, just as he holds her in this moment, sniffling quietly into her hair.

“Quite a life we made together, huh, baby.”

Laughing through the tears, she turns to face him, taking in the crow’s feet, the kind eyes and easy smile. Cupping his face in both hands, nose bumping his with affection, she kisses him, sweetly and slowly, because she has all the time in the world for this man. From the bleachers to the porch to the hospital to right here on her best friend’s grass, they’ve got each other, come what may.

Ruby has often wondered at what point her luck will run out. Has thought about what she’s ever done to have found this kind of love. The kind that is lived-in, joyful, and unconditional. The kind that makes her toes curl in anticipation and her bones sigh in familiarity. Love that makes her feel safe, and heard, and wanted. That fills her up but leaves her lighter than she would be without it – better, than she would be without it.

“I love you, Stanley Lemont Hill.”

“I mean, you ain’t no Kelly Rowland, but…”

“Okay, on second thoughts, I’m calling Idris Elba back.”

She hears a laugh that’s so bright she instantly recognises it from her first ever joyride back when it was Coleman and Marks, not Hill and Boland, and turns towards the sound, face still overwhelmed with emotion. And there she is, standing in a blue wrap dress outside the tunnel, features so soft it reminds Ruby of when she first broke the news about expecting Sara, that magical November morning once upon a time.

Ruby takes in red hair that used to dance out the window every time they’d drive back from grocery shopping before her uncle realised the car had gone. Her eyes travel over delicate shoulders that she’d rested her head upon when her world lost its light the day Marian Coleman had left it. They trace over hands that had deftly braided daisies into her hair the morning of her wedding, that had grasped hers on her kitchen floor when they wheezed laughing at Annie’s lady parts name generator, that had wiped away her tears when she thought she’d lose her daughter.

Beth. Her ride or die. Her sister. Her rock.

“Are you responsible for all of this, Beth Boland?”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? I hate you.”

But she says that whilst reaching out the hand that’s not in Stan’s to grasp Beth’s tightly, and there’s that laugh again, the one she doesn’t hear enough anymore.

“I hate your face.”

*

“And _that_ is how I found out it doesn’t hurt to have a few feet pics in your camera roll for a rainy day. Gross, I know, but a girl’s gotta use what she’s got in this economy, right?” Annie scoffs, licking the last of the lemon curd from her fingers with a crude _pop_.

“Seek salvation, young lady,” is Pastor Jones’ disturbed response, before hastily taking his wine glass and scurrying as far away from her as possible.

“Big toes go for 50 bucks with a pedi!”

“Bitch, are you talking about that nasty foot auction app you found in front of, like, a hundred God-fearing people I have to face every Sunday?” Ruby asks, coming to sit next to Annie at the makeshift bar on the patio.

“Oh, I’m sure some of them have profiles on there too.”

Ruby can only roll her eyes in part amusement, part disgust, as she catches her breath with some Rosé after hitting the dancefloor with Harry and Jane, who are currently trying to persuade as many adults as possible to ‘hit a woah’. Ruby didn’t bother asking for clarification.

Beth and Stan between them managed to get the bubble machine going so the kids are entertained while the rest of them can relax and mingle. Dean’s voice carries over, talking about horsepower and the market value of something Ruby doesn’t care enough to try and understand. If there’s one thing that man is good at, it’s talking shit.

“Honestly, this whole party is so amazing, I don’t even know how ya’ll pulled it off whilst babysitting.”

“I’m surprised you stopped crying long enough to notice the details.”

A strong side-eye is Ruby’s response, coupled with, “Just pour me another drink.” She’s just about to make another toe dig when a throat clearing behind them catches her attention.

“Yo, ladies, I didn’t qualify for an invite or what?”

Gangfriend.

Suddenly, all quips about dirty old men and fuzzy feelings of nostalgia are driven straight out of Ruby’s body as her blood runs cold at the sound of his voice. Slowly, she and Annie swivel on their stools to face him, leaning against the door frame to the back yard, surveying the scene as if he owns the place.

“Ah…we didn’t really take you as a garden party kind of dude but, I mean, we can totally make room for one more. Unless, you were being sarcastic. In which case, by all means, ignore the invite. Or take me up on it. Completely your choice. No pressure. Drink?” Annie’s nervous ramble comes to an awkward halt as he simply regards her blankly, arms crossed, brows slightly raised as if daring her to continue talking.

Ruby exchanges a wide-eyed gaze with Annie, now alternating between pulling at her sleeve and frantically picking at the paint on her nails under the table. Ruby’s throat feels dry, her tongue too heavy in her mouth. He’s chillingly still and try as she might, she can’t think of a word to say in response. This is not how this night was supposed to go.

Swallowing heavily, Ruby tries to take stock of her surroundings to see if anyone else has noticed him. She can hear Stan and Beth just to the side by the chocolate fountain, laughing and hand shaking on finally settling the Black Mafia score of ’03 with a rematch.

Just then, gangfriend’s chin raises towards the sound and she knows he’s heard them too. She prays to God Stan doesn’t come over; the last thing she needs is a show down between her husband and…boss? Something about gangfriend even setting eyes on Stan and her kids sends a shiver down her spine.

“You guys need to get back on the dancefloor, the kids are killing us out there! I was thinking we could bust out our old Spice Girls routine but I have dibs on Baby. And Stan has agreed to finally –“ Beth stops short just beside Ruby, clocking him mid-sentence.

Her face is arrestingly flushed from dancing with the kids, hair slightly windswept from the momentum of spinning Danny around until he squealed with delight. There’s a bright smile only just falling from her face and her eyes are brilliant in this light; joyful and youthful in a way Ruby hasn’t seen them shine in a while.

She thinks she sees his eyes refocus at Beth’s arrival, as if her brightness has caught him off guard and Ruby thinks it must have. This is not desperately clawing Beth, fighting for their lives at gunpoint. Nor is it perfectly poised Beth, negotiating a larger cut for their endeavours.

No, tonight, Beth is Ruby’s Beth. Her children’s Beth. Warm, and free, and vibrant. But above all, _happy_. Magnetic in a different way; more easy charm than boss bitch attitude. It’s no wonder he’s quiet for a beat or two before swallowing thickly to say, “You ain’t been answering your phone. There’s a new shipment I gotta run through before next week. Now that we’re partners and all.”

And it’s funny, because his voice is talking business, but his eyes are saying something very different. So much so, Annie discreetly nudges Ruby with her elbow and all she can think is, _sis, I know._

Lowly, and a little breathlessly, Beth replies, “Sorry, I was busy all day. We can talk about it inside, if you want.”

He is yet to look away from her, and Ruby thinks she could strip to her birthday suit right then and there and homeboy probably would stay none the wiser. Not that she would ever do that with Pastor Jones in the vicinity.

He takes her in, her easy demeanour, all the openness she’s radiating, how she’s showing a quiet vulnerability around the edges, and seems to snap himself into a decision, “Nah, it’s all good, ma. I’ll call you tomorrow. Enjoy your party, yeah?”

“Why don’t you stay?”

Annie splutters beside her and Ruby has to heave herself forward despite her sitting position, just to force some air into her lungs at the shock of Beth’s proposition because honestly, _what the hell?_

Mouth agape, eyes rivalling the size of saucers, Ruby wheezes a silent _why_ as he regards Beth with no small amount of surprise. There’s a thrum in the air between them that feels different to the other times. Right now, it’s Beth who’s comfortable, shoulders relaxed and features soft, caught in the magic of the night. She has him in the palm of her hands, whether she realises it or not – and Ruby would guess the latter – despite how cool he seems to be playing it.

He is only a man, after all.

Beth shrugs self-consciously then, voice still low but loaded, “I mean, there’s plenty of food to go around.”

Biting his lip in contemplation, he can’t seem to resist.

“Aight, you gon’ fix me up a plate?” He says it with a small smile and a lazy blink, and Beth’s mouth quirks up in response. Ruby shares a bewildered look with Annie, and then he’s gone, slinking into the shadows on the periphery, Beth not far behind.

Ruby doesn’t know what just happened, but at least she can breathe upright again.

“Girl, I’mma need that drink, like, _now_.”

*

Somewhere around midnight, about two thirds of the guests still present, they decide to let off the paper lanterns into the night sky, kids looking up in awe, chocolate marshmallows dripping down their fronts. Annie had the foresight to send Dean upstairs on Jane and Danny bedtime duty lest he see their latest arrival and cause a scene.

In the midst of all the chatter and piñata induced shrieks and slow dances to a soft jazz number, looking down from her spot perched by Stan in the treehouse, Ruby's eyes settle on a peculiar sight. Sitting on a bench top, slightly hidden from the crowd, are two figures she's somehow simultaneously panicked and unsurprised to see together. Beth and gangfriend.

Beth's busy watching the lanterns float away above them, the colours casting iridescent rainbow shadows on her face, so she doesn't quite catch the way he looks at her then in a way that can only be described as quiet wonder.

But Ruby sees it all. The way the edges of his mouth imperceptibly soften, transforming his smirk into a barely-there smile. How he blinks softly, coffee eyes filling up with the sight of her beside him. The twitch of his fingers on the bench as they reach out to graze her knuckles in a manner that makes Ruby's breath catch in shock because this is absolutely not dingy warehouses, or Walmart cafes, or cramped bar bathrooms.

This is more evenings on the front porch cuddled against Stan, reassuring each other Sara is strong enough to pull through. Or late night whispered endearments to chase away her mind's imagined horrors.

It's a touch holding a promise that everything will be okay. A touch you can rely on. A touch that says _I got you._

It's what Ruby comes home to every single night but God knows Beth hasn't experienced in too long, maybe ever. Part of her wants to charge between them and drag her best friend out of the fire, to lock her up somewhere safe, high up and away from this...heat.

But then he whispers something in her hair, lashes almost brushing her cheekbone, and she smiles that smile that says she's captured a secret too precious to share. Like she's lost in a haze only he can find her in.

So when she sees Beth's hand inch forward and interlock with his, head turned to face him, eyes bright and a little shy, instead of pulling a Mr. Barnes and tasering him on sight, she turns away, pressing against Stan even closer, kissing his shoulder as his head rests on hers.

Because she recognises that need to be caught by arms other than your own. To just _be_ , even for a second, with someone you can meet halfway.

Maybe in the light of day it will all seem ridiculous. Gangfriend and Beth. Electric glances and sweet caresses. But here in this treetop, fairylight dream with squishies and bubbles and chocolate splattered kids, with Stan in her arms quietly singing off key and a lifetime stretched out ahead of them, she thinks she’ll let it slide.

Just this once.


End file.
